


An open invitation

by tea_for_lupin



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-19 09:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17598305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_for_lupin/pseuds/tea_for_lupin
Summary: Ben came in great shuddering gasps, one hand braced against the wall as he stood under the streaming showerhead, breathing in the steam and exhaling the knowledge that John was unharmed, home safe, with Sarah.What Ben wouldn’t give to be there, too.Midsomer OT3 mutual pining with a happy ending. What's not to like?





	An open invitation

Without a doubt Sarah Barnaby was one of the most beautiful women Ben had ever met. But his Gran had taught him better than to spend his time fancying other blokes’ wives, so Ben kept his eyes and his thoughts on a tight and respectful leash, until two things brought it undone: Sarah’s warmth and frankness in their every interaction, and Ben’s gradual, unavoidable realisation that he had fallen equally hard for John Barnaby himself.

He didn’t know what advice his Gran would have about that.

***

It took John being threatened at gunpoint to make Ben see it; at home, in the shower, shaking with the aftershock of the confrontation in Midsomer Herne. Ben came in great shuddering gasps, one hand braced against the wall as he stood under the streaming showerhead, breathing in the steam and exhaling the knowledge that John was unharmed, home safe, with Sarah. 

What Ben wouldn’t give to be there, too.

Not that they needed him; he’d never seen a couple so—no other way to put it—so _complete_ together. Even Tom and Joyce, happy as they were, couldn’t match this pair of Barnabys for sheer delightedness in each other. 

_Oh, I’m fucked,_ Ben thought. Buried his face in his hands, chest hollow with envy and the aftermath of orgasm. _I’m_ so _fucked._

***

The problem was, Ben _liked_ Susie; admired her too, a lot. She was brave, fun, the sex was fantastic. And if he’d started seeing her because he knew how hopeless it was to keep pining after both the Barnabys like a lovesick kid, well, so what? That was healthy, wasn’t it. He was moving on, and he definitely wasn’t looking too closely at the possible reasons why John was so invested in finding out who he was with. 

(Apart from sodding _blackmailing_ Ben into training for the Chief Constable’s fitness test with him, of course. Ben might stop rolling his eyes about that—John doing it, and Ben letting him—one of these years, but not yet.)

But it didn’t last, between him and Susie; firefighters’ hours and detectives’ hours fit together like—well anyway, that was what they agreed the problem was, and Ben moved back to his own flat. Shrugged resignedly when John and Sarah expressed sympathy for the break-up; lay awake trying to process the shattering events of the last few weeks.

‘You’re a _target_ , Ben,’ John had said to him, when they were deep in the mess of killings surrounding Grady Felton’s release. Ben had known he was; had also been stubbornly determined (all right, _stupidly_ determined; he could admit it to himself in hindsight) to persist with the investigation. Nearly got himself killed into the bargain. 

And the worst thing was—

The worst thing was. _It had almost been worth it_ : to hear his name in John’s mouth, see the fear, for him, in John’s eyes. To be able to imagine, later—alone with his cock in one hand, biting down hard on the heel of the other to keep himself silent—that there was something _more_ than concern for a colleague behind the words. Behind the look. 

Ben didn’t let himself imagine, often. Didn’t let himself think about the way Sarah’s breasts would feel in his hands, his cock in her. John’s in him. 

***

One of those rare occasions: a Sunday afternoon, the sun shining as if they weren’t in England, Midsomer’s murderous citizens not a-murdering. Whether that was in honour of the Sabbath or out of sheer laziness, well, Ben didn’t know, and he didn’t care. The goodwill cricket match between Causton Comp and Devington was a huge success, and Sarah was clearly thrilled with the funds her Sixth Formers had raised for the local hospice. Her smile was infectious, and Ben met it less guardedly than he should have. Caught a flicker of something—awareness? surprise?—in her gaze, and cursed himself for a fool, looked away. 

‘Did I ever tell you about the time,’ he said, and turned the moment with an anecdote about the former DCI. 

‘Tom thinks a lot of you, you know, Ben,’ Sarah said, passing him his second pint. ‘I don’t know if John told you, but Tom absolutely sang your praises to him before he left.’

‘Did he?’ Ben tried not to look too pleased, busied himself with his beer. ‘That’s, um, that’s good to hear.’

‘So clearly you didn’t hear it from John.’ Sarah shook her head at her husband, who tried, unconvincingly, to look innocent. ‘Well, because presumably you won’t hear this from him either, I can tell you that _he_ thinks a lot of you as well.’

‘If you give away all my secrets so casually,’ John said, with the laconically raised eyebrows that Ben knew so well, ‘how can I maintain my carefully cultivated air of mystery?’

Sarah wrinkled her nose at him cheerfully. ‘Air of mystery, you wish.’ 

John smiled his restrained, eye-crinkling smile at her; smiled it, Ben realised, at both of them. ‘Yes, well.’ John cleared his throat. ‘Seeing as the cat’s out of the bag, I may as well confirm that I think highly of your abilities as an officer, Jones, and that I value you very much, as a colleague and—also as a friend.’

Ben's heart did a flip that should've shamed a fourteen-year-old; with an internal groan he hoped the heat of the day would render his reddening face unremarkable. ‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ he said, awkwardly. Was there something in John’s expression that seemed to hint at—no, he was imagining it, surely. He glanced at Sarah, who met his eyes calmly; but she sipped her white wine as if, Ben thought, she was waiting for something. ‘Thank you. And I—well, honestly.’ He thought back to the prickly start of their working relationship, his own bitter-insecure behaviour. Thank god he’d got over himself. ‘I feel the same.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ John sounded almost smug. He drained his glass and pushed it towards Ben. ‘Last round’s on you, Jones.’

The thick summer air was cooling towards a blue-tinged evening as they finished their meals and their drinks. John stood, stretched, passed Sarah her handbag. ‘Time we were heading home, I think.’

‘If you like, Ben,’ Sarah added, ‘you could come with us.’ 

And _that_ was the point at which Ben’s brain finally short-circuited completely. Because he _knew_ what a clear invitation looked like, having been on the receiving end of a few of them in his time. 

Just not on the receiving end of an invitation from two people at once. Who were married. To each other. 

_I'm dreaming,_ Ben thought, _or certifiable, or both._ ‘Um,’ he said out loud, trying to make his mouth make sounds that made any sense at all, ‘I’d love to, I’d _really_ love to. But—I promised my Gran I’d pop round to see her, and water her roses tonight...’ 

‘Oh, what a shame.’ Sarah sounded so genuinely disappointed that Ben blinked, and his mind reeled all over again. ‘Although of course you can’t ditch your Gran. Well, another time, then?’

‘It’s an open invitation, Jones,’ John said, and a flash of desire, also open, showed through his usual reserve. ‘Just so you know.’ 

***

‘Any luck with that footage, Jones?’ 

Ben jerked out of his chair with a yelp; he had been so engrossed in the CCTV tape he was reviewing—one of far too many, and now it was after seven pm—that he hadn’t noticed John walk into the viewing room. ’Sorry sir, I didn’t hear you come in.’ 

John raised an eyebrow. ‘Looks like you could use a break.’

Ben groaned and punched the button to eject the tape. ‘I think you’re right, sir. I’ve looked through days of footage and there’s no sign of Elizabeth Jackson or her vehicle anywhere near the area.’ 

John hummed thoughtfully. ‘Well, that’s suggestive in itself, isn’t it. Good work. Call yourself done for the day.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Ben stretched in relief, loosened his collar. Was suddenly aware of the look John was giving him, the spark of unmistakeable, unabashed hunger. Ben swallowed, heart thudding painfully; deliberately undid his tie. John made a soft sound: half-chuckle, half-sigh.

Ben passed his tongue over his dry lips. ‘Is… is that invitation still open, sir?’ 

John smiled. ‘It certainly is.’ 

***

Ben woke to the smell of coffee and toast, blinked lazily in the morning light. Sarah hummed sleepily and cuddled in closer against him. He stroked her cheek; marvelled, as he always did, at the fine freckled lines of her face and the softness of her skin. 

John was talking to Sykes downstairs. Presently Ben heard his footsteps padding up, and soft clinks as John set down the mugs and a plate. He pressed a kiss to Ben’s forehead, then to Sarah’s. ‘Good morning, both of you.’ 

‘Mmmmmmstillasleep,’ Sarah mumbled, rolling over and pulling a pillow over her head, but Ben grinned and sat up against the headboard, gratefully accepting the coffee.

John lowered himself down next to him. ’Sleep well?’

‘Yeah, I did, thanks.’ _Well,_ Ben thought, with a bone-deep flush of pleasure at the memory, _eventually._ Once they’d all worn themselves out. ‘I always do.’


End file.
